Bargaining of Lives
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Gibbs is put in a tight spot when two of his team members are taken hostage and their lives rest in his hands. Written for the NFA Community Crime Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

"Agent Gibbs," the husky voice greeted, "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

"Actually, Moya, it belongs to us now," Gibbs said without missing a beat.

Petty Officer Moya didn't show any anger at the comment. In fact, Gibbs' statement only made him grin. He liked a cocky, challenging competitor. It made it all the sweeter when he came out on top.

"I beg to differ. I earned that Naval Intel through my own hard work."

"Are you admitting to stealing information from the Navy with the intention of selling it to foreign countries?"

"I never denied it, did I?"

Moya stood and paced, phone in hand. He was a man of only medium height and build, but he found strength in his intelligence and cunning. Besides, who needed physical strength when you had weapons and henchmen backing you up?

"Now I am going to ask very nicely that you return my property to me," Moya said.

"My response is not going to be quite so nice."

"I think you will want to reconsider, Agent Gibbs."

"And why is that?"

The man turned and looked at the two prisoners sitting against the wall with their hands on their heads, fingers entwined, while his two goons guarded them. The baby-faced man was looking down at the ground, his cheeks tinged pink. The olive-skinned woman's fiery gaze was focused directly on Moya himself.

"Because I think you might be interested in a little trade."

* * *

**AN:** As per usual, one chapter per day for this :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Three Hours Earlier_

"Moya passed through customs," Ziva said dejectedly as she returned her phone to its cradle. "He is now on a plane, flying to Venezuela."

"At least we were able to confiscate the stolen Intel," Tim said. He was going through the software Moya had managed to download before he was caught. Naval tactics, codes, and programs filled the disc; these were things that foreign adversaries would love to get their hands on. "If he'd gotten the chance to sell this to anyone, we'd definitely be in trouble."

In truth, it had been serendipitous that anyone had discovered that the Petty Officer had been snooping about the supposedly locked files. Carlos Moya had joined the Navy as a seemingly innocent and unassuming young man. He kept to himself for the most part, conversing with his fellow Naval Officers only when necessary, and did his job well. With a high aptitude for logistics and phenomenal computer skills, he had been allowed his own personal space with which to work, said work consisting mostly of helping crack foreign codes and put together programs to help the Navy.

No one suspected that the young man had cunningly hacked the system.

"Hard to imagine that some wimpy little guy could pull the wool over everyone's eyes."

"The quiet ones are the ones you must be careful of, Tony."

"Think we should keep a closer eye on McGoo?"

"Har, har, DiNozzo," Tim muttered.

"Point is, Moya's the kind of guy who probably got shoved into lockers and dunked into toilets in high school."

"And what better way to feel like you have power over past bullies than by threatening their very safety?" Ziva asked.

"He must have been working on this for a long time," Tim said. "Even the best computer geeks couldn't get all of this information quickly."

"Perhaps that is the very reason he enlisted, McGee."

Gibbs strode in, stopping the discussion in its tracks. His three team members stood, ready to fill him in on what they new.

"Moya has left the country, Gibbs," Ziva said. "He's on his way to Venezuela and I do not anticipate that he will return."

"If he does we'll be ready for him. McGee?"

"I was looking at Moya's disc. Lot's of sensitive information on here."

"Know how he was able to get it?"

"Not completely, and I probably won't unless I can get to the base and actually check their computers' security systems."

"They're probably way ahead of you there, Probie. I'm sure they're doing a complete check as we speak."

"And what have you got, DiNozzo?"

"Carlos Moya enlisted right out of high school. His dad was also in the Navy, but he died when Moya was ten; killed in action. Moya's mother spends her time either drinking in a bar or passed out in her apartment. I spoke to her—or, at least, I tried to—and she said she hadn't seen him in two years. He just sends her checks now and then, and she doesn't question it."

"Is that all?"

"No, I also found out that Moya has a younger brother, Chris, who just graduated from high school. He was charged for petty theft last year and did community service, and has kept pretty clean since then."

"Anything else?"

"Chris Moya's been working the graveyard shift at a gas station and lives alone in a small apartment."

"Were he and his older brother close?"

"The older Moya tried to be a father figure to his little brother. They definitely had to fend for themselves early on."

"McGee! Ziva!" Gibbs barked. "Go pick up Chris Moya. Let's see if he can't coax his big brother back to the states."

The two of them grabbed their things as Tony looked on in disarray. "What about me, boss?"

"You stay here."

"But why?"

"Because I said so, DiNozzo."

"Oh. Well, as long as there's a reason," he said as he sat back down into his seat.

As Tim and Ziva entered the elevator, he asked, "Do you think having his brother is going to bring Moya back?"

"Perhaps not," she said as she jabbed the button for the ground level, " but we may better calculate his next move."

"And what move is that? He's already fled the country."

"McGee, no one who has worked that hard for information will simply leave it behind, especially when it is worth so much. Carlos Moya will attempt to retrieve it, one way or another. We must simply wait for him to make his move."

* * *

**AN:** Wow! I'm happy to see interest in this already! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Chris Moya's apartment was actually a small one-bedroom house which was connected to another house of equal size. His landlord—a middle-aged woman who answered the door with curlers in her hair—lived in the other house by herself. When Tim and Ziva spoke to her, she told them she hadn't seen Chris in almost a week, but admitted that they usually only saw each other when she came by to collect his monthly rent.

Moya's car wasn't in the driveway and none of the lights were on. The door was locked.

"Should we knock?" Tim asked just as Ziva finished picking the lock. "I guess not," he said as she walked in.

The interior of the home was incredibly bare. Only a ratty couch, a coffee table, and a small television adorned the living area. The younger Moya brother obviously had very little in the way of personal style. There wasn't even a clock on the wall.

"He seems to have taken a minimalist approach to decorating," Tim mused. He walked into the kitchen area, looking through the cabinets and refrigerator. All he found were a few mismatching plates and bowls, two drinking glasses, bread that was far past its expiration date, a fridge full of beer, and a freezer full of microwavable meals. "Doesn't seem like much of a cook, either."

"Check the bedroom," Ziva said as she began pulling on gloves.

"Ziva, this isn't a crime scene. We're here to pick up Moya's brother."

"Moya's brother isn't here. Rather than report back to Gibbs empty-handed, I suggest we search the place to see if there is anything we can use."

"Use for what?"

"I do not know, McGee," Ziva snapped in a frustrated tone, "but I do not want to leave without feeling as though we have accomplished _something_. Now check the bedroom."

Tim rolled his eyes, but obliged. She did, after all, have a point about going back to Gibbs empty-handed. What could it hurt to check the bedroom?

He creaked the door open and peeked in. The bed was messy, but empty. He pushed the door open all the way and stepped in carefully. As with the living area, the bedroom was stripped down to the very bare essentials. He had a small bed and a night stand, but nothing else. There was another door to the far end of the room which Tim guessed led to the bathroom.

Tim peeked beneath the bed, but found nothing except a few dust balls and a dead cockroach. He opened the folding double doors located directly opposite the bed to reveal a tiny closet. Other than an old winter coat, the closet was as empty as the rest of the house.

This was not a good sign.

"Ziva!" Tim called. "The closet's empty. I think Chris Moya's gone."

He heard a door creak open behind him, but assumed it was Ziva entering from the living area of the home. It was only when he closed the closet doors and turned around that Tim saw the gun that was trained on him.

* * *

Ziva had checked the between the couch cushions, the kitchen cabinets, and even the refrigerator, but had come up empty. Not that she had really expected to find anything they could use in the case against Carlos Moya. There was no reason for them to believe the brothers had even been in contact recently.

"Ziva!" she heard Tim yell from the bedroom. "The closet's empty. I think Chris Moya's gone."

She sighed in exasperation. This was a bust. They weren't going to find anything here. "Let's go, McGee. There is nothing here."

The door to the bedroom opened and Tim stepped out, hands in the air. Behind him was a large, muscular man aiming a gun at Tim's head. The man wasn't Christopher Moya, though.

"Throw me your weapon, sweetheart."

Ziva leveled him with a glare. "We are federal agents," she said, keeping her tone calm. "We are here investigating and are well within our right to be here. Now lower your weapon."

The man didn't falter. "I don't care who the hell you are. Throw me your weapon or I put a bullet in your friend's head."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as she considered the situation. She was quick, but she knew she wasn't _that_ quick. Were the gun pointed at her, she'd have no trouble taking her chances, but she wasn't willing to risk Tim's life. There was no other choice. She gently grabbed the butt of her gun and pulled it slowly out of the holster. She placed it on the floor and kicked it toward the armed man who stopped it with his foot.

"Got handcuffs?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued. "Handcuff your hands behind your back."

While she did that, the captor grabbed a pair of handcuffs from Tim and began handcuffing Tim's hands behind his back. He pushed Tim toward Ziva and gestured for them to sit on the couch.

"I'm sorry," Tim said softly. "When I turned around, he was there. He'd been hiding in the bathroom"

"It is my fault as much as yours, McGee. We should have cleared the place before splitting up to search it. We simply assumed that no one was here."

"How close are you?" the man asked in a quiet tone. He was speaking to someone on his cell phone, though he kept a close eye on his prisoners. "Yeah, we've got a situation here," he explained to whomever was on the other end. "Just get here as soon as you can."

"Who are you?" Ziva asked after the man finished his call.

The man didn't answer. He was pacing back and forth in front of them, tapping the barrel of his gun against the open palm of his hand.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked this time.

Again, the man didn't answer, though he did give her a sharp look.

"What are you going to do with us?"

"Shut it," he said in reply to her third question.

"I simply want to know what to expect."

"It's not my decision."

Ziva gave a small smile. Finally, she was getting some answers, albeit in very small doses. "So you are not the boss. You are just the hired muscle."

"I'm the second-in-command."

"You must be very proud," she said wryly. "And who is your fearless leader?"

Before he could reply, they heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, followed by the sounds car doors slamming. The man glanced out a window and a smile spread over his face. The smile made both Tim and Ziva uneasy. "You are about to have the pleasure of meeting him."

When the door to the house opened, Tim and Ziva exchanged confused glances. How could Carlos Moya be on a flight to Venezuela when he was standing in the doorway of his brother's home?


	4. Chapter 4

"I confiscated their weapons," the supposed second-in-command said proudly to Moya.

"Good job," Moya said in a patronizing tone. All he needed to do was give the gunman a treat and pet him on the head to complete the dog and master motif.

He stepped toward the newly captured prisoners and motioned for them to stand. When they did, he pointed them toward the wall. "Let me guess: NCIS?"

"Very good," Ziva said. "Now can you guess what is going to happen to you when you are caught?"

"I don't plan on getting caught," he said as he began unlocking the handcuffs. Any idea of trying to overpower Moya flew from both Ziva's and Tim's mind when they saw his goon's gun trained on them. "I do, however, plan on getting back my property, and I think you two are going to help with that.

He pushed them toward the door, ordering, "Keep your hands atop your head."

Tim and Ziva were led out to a black car with dark-tinted windows which was parked in the driveway. Another man was already situated in the driver's seat. He eyed them suspiciously as they exited the home.

"You sit up front and you sit in the back," Moya said to Tim and Ziva respectively. "And if either of you value the life of your partner, I wouldn't recommend trying anything."

The two shared a glance before being pushed in opposite directions. They weren't sure where they were being taken, but they had a fairly good idea about what Moya had meant when he said they would help him regain the stolen Intel.

Tim settled in to his seat and glanced into the rearview mirror. Ziva was situated between Moya and the gunman who had captured them, a scowl plastered on her face. Moya had obviously assumed that she, being the woman, would be the one most likely to escape, leaving Tim, the man, behind to face the consequences. Scrunched between the two men, though, Ziva had no hope of escape, and Tim wasn't about to let Ziva be killed in his own attempt. They would just have to play this one by ear.

"I thought you were on your way to Venezuela," Ziva commented.

Moya chuckled. "You thought wrong, Officer David," he said as he read her confiscated badge.

"Tell me, then, why a Carlos Moya was recorded, boarding a flight earlier today."

"It's very easy to fake any form of identification if you've been doing it long enough, especially for someone who looks so much like you to begin with."

"Like a brother?" she asked.

He nodded. "My little brother has a gambling problem and some people were after him to pay up. Being the responsible older brother that I am, I offered to give him a passport and a plane ticket so he could skip town. He gratefully accepted."

"And is he aware that his 'responsible older brother' has been stealing Intel from the Navy, possibly to sell to anti-American groups and countries?"

Moya shrugged. "Sometimes, what someone doesn't know can't hurt him."

The Mossad liaison fixed him with a cold glare. "You make me sick!" she spat out.

"And why is that?"

"You are a traitor to your country! You are a traitor to the people who have provided security for you! The Navy took you in and gave you training to make you a better person, and you have slapped them in the face!"

Almost as though taking it as a suggestion, Moya's hand sprang out and smacked Ziva across her face. The force of the blow was such that her body was slightly propelled into the goon beside her and she was momentarily stunned at the action.

Up front, Tim turned around angrily, snarling, "Don't touch her!"

In a flash, Moya extracted a gun and aimed it toward Tim. "Turn back around, Agent McGee," the man said slowly, not even looking at Tim.

Tim gave Ziva a look to assure that she wasn't badly hurt, and then he reluctantly turned back around in his seat. He continued to keep an eye on them in the rearview mirror, though.

Moya grabbed Ziva's chin, forcing her to look him in the eye as he spoke to her. "My country did _nothing_ for me," he said in a firm and hushed tone. "My country didn't protect me when bullies tormented me. All my country did was tell me that things would change when I grew up, or that I should be more like those kids and then they wouldn't tease and bully me. My country made promises to me that my country didn't keep. So I made a promise to my country that I never intended to keep. Now, my country can see what it's like to be bullied by others, to live in quiet fear that this might be the day they set off that one, truly heinous thug and end up with their underwear at their ankles and their head shoved in a dirty toilet."

Ziva was quiet for a moment after Moya released her. Then, she said, "You must have really been hurt to want to do damage so badly."

"Sweetheart, you don't know the half of it."


	5. Chapter 5

Neither Tim nor Ziva was certain how long or far they traveled in the vehicle. The car slowed down at one point near an abandoned lot, but it was only so Moya could get rid of Tim's and Ziva's cell phones. The man was smart enough to cover all of his bases.

"So where are we going?" Ziva asked. She hadn't spoken since Moya's outburst; no one had spoken since his outburst, except for Moya.

"It makes no difference for you to know."

"Are you planning to kill us?"

"That depends on your boss and how attached he is to the Intel."

"Have you ever spoken to our boss?" she asked.

"No, Officer David, but I've heard enough to know that he isn't going to roll over easily."

"He is not going to roll over at all."

Moya smiled. His smiled gave her the creeps. "You may think that, but he will find that I am just as willing to play hard ball as he is."

"I get the feeling you're looking forward to this."

"Of course! The best part is the process of negotiation. Your opponent thinks he has you in a mind, only to find that the status quo has changed without them even realizing it." He leaned in, confiding to her, "It's all the more fun when your opponent truly believes he is unbreakable as your Agent Gibbs seems to think."

The car pulled onto a winding dirt road, coming to a final stop in front of a small house, hidden deep in a wooded area. Moya got out first, gun in hand, and pulled Ziva out behind him. He pushed her ahead as Tim and the two henchmen got out, following behind.

The home was cozy, though tight for five people. The convertible couch was already pulled out, dressed with a couple of sloppy sheets. There was more furniture than there had been in the apartment, but there didn't seem to be any luxury items, like TVs, phones, or computers. Obviously, the men were here to work, not to play.

Ziva and Tim were ordered to sit against the wall, hands on their heads, as the henchmen guarded them. They couldn't speak to each other, but an exchange of glances was enough. They knew they were in trouble and that their lives were only valuable so long as Moya thought they could be traded for what he needed. Once the status quo had changed in his favor, they would just be loose ends in need of being tied.

* * *

"Have McGee and Ziva gotten back yet?" Gibbs asked as he re-entered the bullpen.

Tony sat up, removing his feet from the edge the desk where they had been situated. He stealthily closed out of the game he'd been playing on his cell phone, not wanting a repeat of the last time Gibbs had caught him playing games on agency time. "Not yet, boss."

"They call?"

"They didn't call me." Tony stood and glanced around as though the two might come strolling in at any moment, the younger Moya in tow. "Where's the Intel we confiscated?"

"I handed it over to Vance and by now I assume it's being checked over by one of the guys from CCU," Gibbs muttered. He checked his own phone for messages from either Ziva or Tim, but found none. "They've been gone almost three hours," he growled. "It doesn't take that long to pick someone up."

"Maybe McTortoise is driving," Tony mused, "or Ziva's gotten into another accident."

"DiNozzo, why don't you make yourself useful and call their cell phones?" Gibbs barked. "And get that damn game off your phone!"

The phone atop his desk began to ring. He snatched it up, gruffly saying, "Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs. I believe you have something that belongs to me."

He sat back in his chair, regarding the voice. He had never met Moya and never spoken to him. But he knew enough about the man to know he was the one on the other end of the line. "Actually, Moya, it belongs to us now," he said, causing Tony to look up with interest.

"I beg to differ. I earned that Naval Intel through my own hard work."

_If McGee were here_, Gibbs thought dourly, _he could trace the call_. The man knew, though, that Moya probably would have considered that before calling. What was he up to?

"Are you admitting to stealing information from the Navy with the intention of selling it to foreign countries?"

"I never denied it, did I?" Gibbs could hear the smug smile in the man's voice. "Now I am going to ask very nicely that you return my property to me."

"My response is not going to be quite so nice."

"I think you will want to reconsider, Agent Gibbs."

As soon as Moya had said it, Gibbs realized something was wrong. Moya obviously thought he had the upper hand. "And why is that?"

"Because I think you might be interested in a little trade."

McGee and Ziva had been gone for three hours, far longer than necessary to pick someone up. The someone happened to be the brother of the man on the other line, the same man now offering a trade. Gibbs wasn't stupid. He could put the pieces together. He quickly scribbled something down and snapped his fingers to get Tony's attention, beckoning the agent over to his desk.

_McGee and Ziva kidnapped. Tell Vance. Track cell phones._

That's what the paper which Gibbs thrust into Tony's hands read. The agent scanned the words and looked up in shock. The violent waving of Gibbs' hand coupled with his stone cold glare–meant for Moya, but survived by Tony–kicked his butt into gear.


	6. Chapter 6

"What are the demands, Agent Gibbs?" Vance had called Gibbs up to his office as soon as Tony had informed him of the situation.

"We hand over the Intel and he lets them go."

Vance's face turned grim as he gnawed on his toothpick. "You know we can't do that. SecNav won't allow us to hand Intel back, not even if it means the lives of two agents."

"I am well aware of that, sir."

"I assume you've got a plan in the works."

"You know me well."

"I know you're not one to bow down to demands from anyone, let alone a punk like Moya."

Gibbs grinned in spite of the grave situation. "I can't say we've got a plan so much as we're working all angles right now. DiNozzo is trying to track their cell phones, Abby is running Moya's cell phone records and credit card purchases through a program to see if she can pinpoint where his hideout is, and Agent Byrnes and his team have gone to check the apartment of Moya's younger brother, which is where we believe McGee and Ziva were taken hostage."

"What about the call you received? Were you able to trace it?"

"Didn't get a chance to try," Gibbs admitted. "Moya's cautious, though, so I suspect it was a burn phone."

"And what are you doing for the case?"

"Currently, sir, I'm standing here talking to you."

Vance offered up a slight smile before jerking his head toward the door. "Just keep me in the loop."

"Will do," Gibbs promised on his way out.

In the bull pen, Tony was fiddling with his computer as he tried to get the coordinates on Tim's and Ziva's cell phones. He had never really done any of the tracking stuff without Tim looking over his shoulder and giving him instructions, so he couldn't be completely sure he was doing it correctly.

"Got a fix, DiNozzo?"

"I think so, but this is more of a McGee thing."

"McGee isn't here, Tony," he snapped.

Tony winced involuntarily. He didn't need a reminder of the danger Tim and Ziva were in. "I'm pretty sure I've got it."

Gibbs glanced at the screen. "What's out there?"

"Nothing," Tony said almost meekly. "But I'm guessing Moya ditched their cell phones."

"You're probably right, but get Abby to double check your work just in case."

"I put out the BOLO on Moya's car, but no hits so far. What do you need me to do now?"

"See if Abby's made any progress."

"That's it?"

"At this point, DiNozzo, that's all we can do."

* * *

Tim and Ziva were led to a small basement area of the house and were told to stay put. One of the goons—Moya had called the man "Sal"—was standing guard in front of the door at the top of the stairs. The basement had no windows and no other visible means of escape. It was also completely empty, save for the two prisoners.

"I thought basements were where everyone stored their junk," Tim commented as he gazed around the makeshift prison.

"Must be why we have been put down here."

Ziva glanced up at the door. It was closed, though they both knew someone was standing just outside. This was about as private is it was going to get for them. She pulled Tim as far from the door as they could go and signaled for him to keep his voice low. "We need a plan."

"You think I don't know that?"

"So do you have one?"

"Right now, my plan is to stay alive as long as possible."

"Once they hand the Intel over to Moya, we are as good as dead."

"You're wrong there, Ziva."

"You don't think they will kill us?"

"No, I mean you're wrong because there is no way NCIS is going to give the Intel back to Moya. The Navy would never allow it."

"Either way, our time is running out as we speak," Ziva said in an exasperated tone. "We need to plan for all possibilities."

She began pacing back and forth, searching the area of the basement. Despite what she liked to tell her teammates, Ziva couldn't actually kill someone with a paperclip—at least, not someone who was armed with a loaded gun—and they didn't even have one of _those_ at their disposal. All they had was their own clothing, and those weren't much of weapons. Perhaps they needed a more delicate approach.

"You and Moya," she said to Tim, "you are similar, yes? You both were bullied in high school."

"What's your point?"

"You can empathize with him. Find a common ground."

Tim sighed and shook his head. "Moya's too smart for that. He's not someone who can be easily manipulated."

"Well, unless you can figure out a better idea, I think it is worth a shot."

"What should I do? Tell him I was a geek too and suggest we go out for a few beers and swap stories about our high school nightmares?"

"Have you a better plan?"

He didn't and Tim knew it. "I'll try my best," he assured her, "but I don't expect much of a result."

* * *

**AN:** Wow! Thank you to all of you guys reading this and reviewing it! I hope you're enjoying it :)


	7. Chapter 7

"You look grim, Abbs," Tony said. He wasn't talking about her dark make-up.

"How _should_ I look Tony?" she asked in a sharp tone. "Ziva and McGee are being held hostage by some crazy guy and he won't let them go unless we give him back the Intel he stole from the Navy, which isn't going to happen because then we'd be setting ourselves up for an attack and—"

"Abby! Breathe!" Tony said, stopping her mid-rant. "They're going to be okay."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know Gibbs. He won't let them get killed."

She bit her bottom lip, hugging her arms around her torso. She couldn't _not_ worry; it was too much in her nature. But fretting wasn't going to help anything. "I've been looking at Moya's recent purchases, but I haven't found anything substantial. His last credit card purchase was a coffee from a week ago."

"He's probably been paying with cash," Tony surmised. "Harder to track him. Anything else?"

"I haven't found any patterns in his phone records."

"So you've got nothing?"

Abby nodded sadly. "Right now, I do. I'm failing them."

"Abby, you are not failing them. Maybe Agent Byrnes' team will find something at the apartment."

"'Maybe' isn't good enough!"

"Well, for now it'll have to do!" Tony bellowed. He didn't often raise his voice, especially not to Abby, but her hysterics weren't going to help the situation. "Gibbs wants you to double check where their cell phones are. Is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?"

"Pray?" she suggested.

* * *

Sal heard a knock at the door behind him. He wasn't sure what to do, though. Moya and Joe had gone out to grab dinner, and before leaving Moya had given him one simple instruction: guard the prisoners.

The knock came again, this time accompanied by the man's voice. "Hey! We've been down here for hours. Can we use the bathroom?"

Sal mulled over the question in his mind. It was a basic request; they would, after all, need to use the bathroom at some point. And Moya hadn't said they couldn't go to the bathroom, he'd just said to guard them. As long as they were in his sight, he didn't see the problem.

"Step back from the door," he commanded to the two of them. He slowly opened the door, keeping his gun level. He beckoned them out. "Don't try anything."

"We would not dream of it," Ziva said. Sal missed the slight sarcasm which dripped from her tone.

Sal led them through hallway. "Bathroom's through here. One at a time."

Tim nodded to Ziva to go first and leaned back against the wall beside Sal. "Where're the other two?"

"They're getting dinner," Sal said. "Hope you like burgers."

"I don't think I'm in any position to be picky."

Tim silently assessed the man. Sal was the physical antithesis of Moya. The man was tall and muscular with broad shoulders. It was funny that he was the one taking orders from Moya when he could easily break the miniscule man in half with his hands. It was obvious that Moya was the brains while Sal and supposed second-in-command Joe were the brawn.

"Funny," he said softly.

"What's funny?" Sal demanded with a frown.

Tim smiled sheepishly. He hadn't meant for Sal to hear that. "I just meant how different you and your boss are," he explained. "He was the one in high school who was teased, and you look like you were the one who would have done the teasing."

"I wasn't a bully," Sal said assertively. "Smart guys aren't the only ones who get bullied."

"Oh." Tim hadn't ever thought of any high scenario outside of the geek being pummeled by the jocks. "So you were teased too?"

Sal was silent for a moment before slowly nodding. "People made fun of me because I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid." Why Tim was so quick to assure the armed guard of that he had no idea.

"I had to take special classes because I learn slow."

"That doesn't mean you're stupid."

"Nah, I am. The Navy didn't even want me."

This new bit of information made Tim perk up. "You wanted to enlist?"

"Yeah, but they didn't want me."

"So how did you meet Moya?"

"I was working the stock room with his brother. He said he needed a strong guy to help him out." Tim noticed how Sal's chest puffed out when he mentioned that. The brawny man obviously had a delicate ego and the thought that someone thought of him as useful in someway was enough to earn his loyalty to that someone.

"It's good to feel needed," Tim mused.

Sal nodded eagerly in agreement. "I'm his second-in-command," he said proudly.

Tim raised an eyebrow as he recalled Moya's other goon saying the exact same thing. It seemed there was a difference of opinion when it came to the trio's hierarchy. Tim wondered what Moya's opinion was on the matter.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The men turned and saw Moya standing at the mouth of the hallway, gun in hand. Joe entered behind him holding a bag of what Tim assumed to be hamburgers.

"Why isn't he in the basement?" Moya asked

"They had to use the bathroom and I thought—"

"No," Moya cut off, "you didn't think. You _don't _think."

Sal shifted uncomfortably in his place. Tim noticed the sudden change of tone. "Well, I figured you didn't want them to have to hold it in."

"Sal, I don't give a fuck whether they hold it in or piss all over the basement!" Moya snapped as Ziva exited the bathroom. "Next time, you need to wait until Joe and I get back so we can watch the other one."

"They weren't giving me any trouble."

"Yeah, now they aren't because Joe and I are here. If we hadn't come back…" the angry little man trailed off, eyes blazing. "God, you are so fucking stupid!"

Sal's eyes lowered in embarrassment. "Well, he still needs to go…so…uh…what should I do?"

Moya rolled his eyes as though the question were the dumbest he'd ever heard. He didn't seem to think very highly of Sal. "Take her back and watch her. Let's see if you can handle that, or if it'll overload your tiny brain."

The man, face red in humiliation, did as he was told. Despite his hand in their kidnapping, Tim felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He remembered what it felt like to be bullied. Obviously, Moya had forgotten. That, or he simply didn't care about anyone's feelings but his own.

"You have two minutes," Moya said as he shoved Tim into the open bathroom. "One second over and I put a bullet in your little girlfriend."

Tim quickly took care of his business and said nothing as he was roughly escorted back to the basement. His mind, though, was running as he reevaluated their plan. He grabbed Ziva and pulled her over to their whispering place.

"I think I've found a weakness we can exploit."


	8. Chapter 8

"Gibbs!" Agent Byrnes entered the squad room with his team—Agents Cole and Wright—not far behind. The three person team had volunteered to check the apartment while Gibbs and Tony ran leads from NCIS headquarters.

"Any information?" Gibbs asked.

"We dusted for fingerprints and found a few hair samples," Byrnes said. He signaled Cole and Wright to bring said prints and samples down to Abby's lab. "Talked to Chris Moya's landlady. Her name is Patricia Badel and she lives in the adjoining home. She said McGee and David showed up earlier today and asked about Moya. She said she hadn't seen him in a week and they went to see if he was home. She didn't see them after that."

"Did you find anything suspicious?"

"The front door was unlocked and the apartment was almost completely empty."

"Clothes?"

"A coat in the closet, but nothing else. There wasn't even a toothbrush in the bathroom."

"So Carlos Moya supposedly boarded a plane to Venezuela, yet he somehow managed to take two of my people hostage. Now, it seems his younger brother has taken an unexpected trip."

Byrnes smiled wryly. "I guess the brothers did a switch."

"Any other leads?"

"Sorry," Byrnes said with a sad shake of his head. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Not right now, but I'll let you know."

Byrnes returned to his desk as Gibbs mulled over the newest information and assessed what they knew. Carlos Moya was still in the country and he had taken McGee and Ziva hostage. Their phones had been tossed, so they couldn't track them that way. Nothing had come up on Moya's credit card purchases, so they didn't know where he might be hiding out. They assumed Moya had hired muscle helping him, but they hadn't any idea who. Based on what Gibbs knew about Moya, he wasn't likely to have hired any of his high school classmates. That left one possibility.

"Tony!"

The senior field agent had just entered the bull pen when Gibbs' barked out his name, causing him to jump. "Yeah, boss?"

"Talk to Moya's C.O. and find out who his friends were in the Navy. Then see where those friends are now."

* * *

"Do you think he would be willing to betray Moya?" Ziva asked quietly as she and Tim ate the burgers they'd been given for dinner. "He seems very loyal."

"He is," Tim agreed, "but I think his loyalty is fickler than Moya realizes. He thinks Sal is just some stupid lapdog who would gladly do whatever is asked of him. He knows Sal is easily-manipulated, but he's so cocky that he thinks he's the only one who can do the manipulating."

Ziva crumbled the wrapper from her burger and shoved it in the paper bag. "It will take time."

"I know, but I think it's our best shot. Moya has already begun excluding Sal and is bullying him."

"The victim has become the bully," Ziva mused.

"Sal is going to grow more and more dejected by the treatment. When he sees a way to make it stop, he'll take it."

"How do you know?"

Tim grimaced, thoughts of his own high school tormentors racing through his mind. "Because," he said softly, "that's what _I_ did."

"How?" she asked gently.

"Well, I didn't make it stop exactly, I just figured out a way to get myself out as quickly as possible. I took summer courses which would count toward my high school curriculum and I graduated early."

"And you think if we offer him an out, he'll take it?"

"I know he will."

"He will still do time in jail," Ziva reminded. "He has aided in the kidnapping of two federal employees and in the theft of Naval Intelligence. I do not think the American government will take that lightly."

"We don't know that he was involved in stealing the Intel. As for kidnapping, I'm sure a case could be made that he was coerced." Tim sat back against the basement wall. "If he helped us, I would gladly plead his case before a judge. He could get off with a light sentence."

"If he does not help us and he _is_ caught, I do not think he will be so lucky."

"Especially if we end up dead."

"It does make your offer sound appealing. But we need to proceed delicately. Sal may not be the brightest cookie in the box, but he will be suspicious."

Tim nodded concurrently. "We don't have much time, though. Moya isn't going to wait around for that Intel forever."

"When he realizes that holding us hostage will not get it, he'll re-think his plan."

There was a terse silence before Tim grimly concluded, "And we'll be thrown out with the garbage."


	9. Chapter 9

The two captives made it through the night without interruption. Falling asleep in a drafty basement wasn't easy, especially with no bedding. Around midnight, though, the two were so tired that they both fell into a much needed sleep, their bodies rested together in an attempt for warmth and comfort.

Tim awoke the next morning and immediately winced at the crick in his neck. His back had been pressed against the wall during the night and his muscles were sore. He glanced over and saw Ziva's head resting on her shoulder, a small trail of drool dribbling from her mouth as she snored.

Above them, Tim could hear footsteps as well as the faint sound of cabinets opening abd closing. It sounded like their captors were awake. "Ziva," he whispered as he gently nudged her jaw with his shoulder.

She groaned and pulled her head away. "What time is it?" she mumbled. She was running the heel of her hand across her bottom lip to wipe off any leftover drool.

"I don't know, but I think it's morning. Someone's walking around upstairs."

She stretched her arms up. "I think I slept wrong. My entire body is sore."

"That'll happen when you sleep while sitting against a hard wall," he said dryly. "I feel disgusting. No shower…no deodorant…no toothbrush or toothpaste."

"The life of a hostage is not a glamorous one," Ziva said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He began sniffing at his clothing. "I must smell awful."

"Probably," she agreed, "but I likely do as well."

"Maybe we can kill them with our heinous odor."

"I do not think death by odor is a viable means of defense."

The knob of the door above them rattled, stopping their discussion. The door opened to reveal Sal and Joe, the former holding a tray with identical plates and glasses of juice, and the latter holding a gun.

"Breakfast!" Sal announced in an almost gleeful tone. He set the tray down before the Tim and Ziva. "It's just toast and orange juice."

"Thank you," Ziva said.

"Yeah," Tim agreed as he grabbed one of the plates, "I could go for some toast right about now."

"We're still talking to your boss," Joe sneered. "He's stalling, but we'll get what we want."

"We?" Ziva repeated. "I thought it was your boss' Intel."

The armed man glared at her. "He and I are in this together." Joe's exclusion of Sal didn't go unnoticed by Tim and Ziva, nor did it go unnoticed by Sal himself. None of them mentioned it, though. "Now eat," Joe ordered.

"What will happen if NCIS does not cooperate?" Ziva asked.

"You know what happens."

"I know what will happen to _us_; I meant what will happen to you?"

"Nothing happens to me. Moya and I rethink the plan."

"And if that one fails as well?"

"It won't," he said through gritted teeth, "and if you don't shut up I'll smack you across the mouth with this gun."

* * *

It didn't seem as though anyone at NCIS had gone home all night. Abby had stayed in her lab, bunkering down on her futon for a couple hours as she ran the fingerprints and hair samples that Agent Byrnes' team had brought to her. Vance had called his wife and told her he would be at the office all night, and then had settled down on his couch while he waited for more news from Gibbs. Tony had driven to meet with Captain Hutton, Carlos Moya's Commanding Officer, and had then driven back to headquarters. Gibbs had spent the night at his desk, going over Moya's file.

So far, there had been no leads.

"Boss!" Tony called out breathlessly as he returned from his interview with Captain Hutton. "I talked with Moya's C.O."

"I hope you've got something for us to work with."

"I think so. According to Hutton, Moya's closest friend was another P.O. by the name of Joseph Beery," Tony said, plopping the file down on Gibbs' desk. "Beery was a loose cannon with a bad temper. He was always picking fights and making threats. Eventually, he was given a dishonorable discharge and he pretty much fell off the radar. I stopped by his last listed address and his landlord hasn't seen him in two months."

"Getting his name down to Abby. Could be that he's our missing link in this."

"Not could be, Gibbs; definitely!"

The two men turned to see an excited Abby running to them. "I got a hit on one of the prints lifted from Chris Moya's apartment."

"Let me guess: Joseph Beery?"

"Good guess, Tony!"

"DiNozzo, put out a BOLO for Beery," Gibbs ordered.

"On it, boss!"

Abby looked to Gibbs, that pitiful look on her face. "What can I do, Gibbs?"

"You're already doing what you can, Abbs."

"I want to do more!"

"Abby, I don't know what else you can do at this point."

"But—"

"Abby! Stop making yourself crazy! You've given us a solid lead. Now go get some sleep."

She crossed her arms in front of her, lips formed into a prominent frown. "I don't need sleep, Gibbs."

He sighed in frustration. He recognized that Abby wanted to help, but he didn't have time for this. "Do you have Beery's credit card and bank information?"

"I can get it."

"Look into it. See if there are any patterns in his purchases."

"On it, boss," she said, echoing Tony.

"You think they're okay, boss?" the younger agent asked once Abby was out of earshot.

Gibbs looked at him, silent for a moment. "Moya still needs them," he finally concluded. "They aren't dead."

The unspoken 'yet' resonated in both of their minds.


	10. Chapter 10

They hadn't seen any of their captors since breakfast that morning. They had been taken out separately for bathroom breaks after eating and, so far, had been left alone. Two water bottles had been left down there for them to drink.

"Someone left," Ziva said confidently. "I distinctly heard the car start up and drive away."

"Do you think they left Sal alone again?"

"We will not know until we check and see. I have no heard any footsteps aside from the ones in front of the door."

Tim considered this fact and then, in one large swig, finished the rest of his water. "Let me see."

Her hand grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Would you like me to check?" she asked.

"No. I've already built up a rapport with him, so if anyone is going to talk to him it'll be me."

"Fair enough."

Tim crept up the stairs and peeked under the door. He saw the heels of Sal's black boots facing toward the door. Tentatively, he knocked against the door.

"What do you want?" Sal asked. He was much more on his guard today than he had been the previous day. No doubt Moya had given him a deprecating talk on how to handle the hostages.

"I'm finished with my water bottle and I just thought I'd give it to you to throw away."

"I'm not supposed to let you out."

"I'm not asking you to let me out. You can open the door and I'll stand right here while I hand it to you." When Sal didn't immediately reply, Tim added, "Ziva is still downstairs and I'm not going to try and fight you. I know that I'd lose."

"You promise you won't come out?"

"I swear to you on my life."

The door slowly creaked open and Sal reach a hand in for the water bottle. Tim handed it over with a slight smile. "See? There are no tricks."

"Okay. Now you need to go back down."

"Can't we talk? I promise to stay where I am."

"If Carlos or Joe catches me talking to you, I'll be toast."

"So don't let them catch you. Are they here right now?"

"Well, no," Sal said softly.

"Then what they don't know can't hurt them."

"Why do you want to talk?"

Tim leaned against the wall beside the door. "It's getting boring down here. I figured you'd be bored as well and might want some conversation." He could practically see Sal's mouth twisted into a pensive frown as he mulled over the proposition.

"I guess that's okay," the man said uncertainly, "as long as you stay in there."

"I'm not going anywhere," Tim promised. "I can't."

"So what do you want to talk about?"

"Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself. Family?"

There was a pause. "My mom's dead. Don't know who my dad was."

"I'm sorry. Any older siblings?"

"No, but when I was younger my mom put me in one of those Big Brother programs so I could have a good role model."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah," Sal said reminiscently. "They paired me with this guy, Gordon. He would pick me up on the weekends to go do stuff."

"Camping?" Tim suggested.

"A couple of times. I didn't really like the outdoors that much though. I don't think Gordon did either."

"So where is he now?"

Sal paused for a moment. "He enlisted in the Navy. He got deployed and had to leave the program." There was a bout of silence and then Sal added, "I never saw him after that."

"Is that why you wanted to enlist?"

"Yeah…it is. But they didn't take me. I guess if I'd been smarter like Carlos and Joe…"

It made sense to Tim now. Sal idolized Carlos and Joe because they were the men he'd hoped to be. At least, they were the Naval Officers he'd hoped to be. He idealized Naval Officers as being exactly as his Big Brother had been, connecting the idea of them with memories of being happy and enjoying himself as a child. The problem was, he couldn't recognize when someone was a good officer and when someone was a bad one.

"You know," Tim said slowly, "my dad was in the Navy."

"Really?"

He grinned, aware that he had piqued the man's interest. "Yep."

"So did you enlist?"

"No, I knew the military wasn't for me. I went a more academic route. But I still admire the men and women of the armed forces. They work hard to defend our country."

"I wish I could have defended our country."

"You can."

"How?"

Time to go in for the kill, figuratively speaking. "Sal, if my dad ever heard about one of his fellow officers stealing from the Navy and trying to sell the information to terrorists, he probably would have ripped that officer to shreds with his bare hands. I think any good Naval Officer would do the same. Even Gordon."

"And what's that got to do with me?"

"You know someone who is doing something wrong…someone who used the Navy to do something wrong. You can defend our country by stopping him. That's just as important as defending it in the armed forces."

"I can't," Sal insisted, sounding not unlike a pitiful child.

"Yes, you can."

"This is the only way for me to get respect."

"He's using you. If he respected you, he wouldn't call you stupid."

"I _am_ stupid."

"No, Sal, you're not."

Sal didn't reply. Tim looked at the door, willing their guard to say something or, even better, open the door and let them out. But it didn't happen. There was only silence.

"Sal?"

"Shut up," Sal said in a low tone. "They're back. Now go back downstairs."

Tim gave a dejected sigh, fearing he had overplayed his hand and had struck too soon. He trudged back down to where Ziva sat. She gave him an encouraging smile, having heard the entire conversation.

"You did your best," she whispered as he slid down the wall beside her.

"My best," he echoed ruefully. "It's too bad my best couldn't save our lives."


	11. Chapter 11

Gibbs entered Abby's lab, contented to hear that she was once again blasting her infernal music, despite the fact that Tim and Ziva were still being held hostage. It was always a good sign when Abby's music was blaring; it meant she was working.

"You called me?" he asked.

She engulfed him in an air-tight hug, shrieking, "Gibbs!" loudly in his ear. "I think I may have found something!"

"Think?"

"Well, it's nothing solid, yet, and it's kind of dependent on whether or not Joseph Beery is actually involved with whatever Moya is doing…"

He leveled her with a look. "Abby…"

"I tapped into Beery's credit card purchases," she explained, pulling up a list of recent purchases made by the discharged P.O. "Turns out that he's a smoker."

"And this helps how?" he asked as he peered at the list of purchases. Cigarette purchases certainly made up the bulk of the list.

"Because, for the past month he's been getting his nicotine fix from one convenient store. Like clockwork, everyday."

Gibbs pulled out his cell phone, hitting the number for Tony's phone. "DiNozzo, grab the Sedan and meet me out front."

Before he could leave, Abby had his hand enclosed in a tight grasp. "They're going to be okay, Gibbs."

"Are you asking me or telling me, Abbs?"

She didn't answer his question, but repeated, "They're going to be okay."

He pulled her into a comforting hug. "Yes, Abby. They're going to be okay."

* * *

"What's going on, boss?" Tony asked as Gibbs slid into the seat beside him. "We got a fix on Moya?"

"Not Moya—Beery. He's been buying cigarettes from one convenient store for the past month, and today we are going to beat him there."

"What if he's got nothing to do with any of this?"

"Then he can tell us that when we get him back to interrogation."

Tony pulled into traffic, giving his boss a sidelong glance. "But you think he _does_ have something to do with this, don't you?"

Gibbs didn't bother to reply.

"Do you think he'll tell us where Moya is?" Tony asked.

"He will if he values his life."

"Do you think they're…" He paused. "I mean, do you think he's already tied up…loose ends?"

Gibbs flicked on the car radio, ending the discussion then and there.

* * *

Beery dropped the three packs of Lucky Strikes on to the counter. He'd already opened one of the packs and had a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth as he waited for the cashier to ring up his purchases. In addition to the cigarettes, he'd also grabbed a couple bottles of water, a bag of chips, and, at Moya's command, a pre-paid cell phone.

"Will this be all, sir?" the acne-ridden teen asked as he scanned the last pack of cigarettes.

"That's it," he said gruffly. He tapped his fingers against the counter as he waited for the kid to bag his items.

The cashier picked the chips up. "These are two for one, you know. If you'd like, I can got get you another bag."

"No," Beery snapped. "I don't want another bag. Just tell me what I owe you."

Beery wanted to get back. He knew the time was coming that they would have to get out—ridding themselves of all excess baggage—and probably flee the country. Moya wasn't keen on leaving without the Intel, but Beery was a bit more sensible in that respect. They couldn't wait forever. He _wouldn't_ wait forever.

The cashier read him his total and Beery handed over his credit card. The card was swiped, the payment made, and the receipt printed. He snatched the bags from the counter without another word to the young cashier and sauntered out.

"Excuse me, sir?" Beery turned to see a grey-haired main approaching. "Do you have the time?"

Beery glanced down at his watch. "Yeah, it's 2:18."

Behind him, a hand firmly grasped his shoulder. Before he could react, Beery felt his arm being twisted behind his back and he dropped the bag of items as he struggled against the grip. "What the hell?"

"Joseph Beery," Tony said as he clicked the handcuffs around the man's wrists, "you're going to have to come with us."

Gibbs leaned down and picked up the discarded bag, peering at the contents. "A pre-paid cell phone," he commented, pulling the phone out.

"You weren't planning on making suspicious calls, were you?" Tony asked as he pulled Beery toward the car.

"You have no right to do this!" the man snarled. "I have rights!"

"You do," Tony agreed as he shoved Beery into the back seat of the Sedan. "The first is that you have the right to remain silent. If I were you, I'd take that right."

Gibbs opened the trunk of Beery's car. No bodies. That was a good sign. He also found nothing in the front and back seats.

"Tony, get this car to the garage," he ordered. "Look it over from top to bottom. I'll take Beery back and put him in interrogation."

Gibbs knew Moya hadn't called back yet. The newly purchased phone was a sign, though, that he was planning to. He knew they didn't have much time left, and right now the key to wher Tim and Ziva were being held lay in the hands of Joseph Beery.

Gibbs would break him if it was the last thing he ever did.


	12. Chapter 12

Normally, Gibbs would have been happy to let the suspect stew for a while in the interrogation room before beginning the interrogation. He'd found that very often suspects would let their guard down after sitting alone for a length of time, leaving him to go in for the kill. In this case, though, Gibbs couldn't waste time. It wouldn't take long for Moya to realize something was wrong and he needed to get the location out of Beery quickly.

"You have nothing against me!" the man snarled. He was still handcuffed as he sat across from Gibbs. "Now let me go!"

Gibbs sat silent as he studied Beery. He hadn't spoken a word since arresting him outside the convenience store, not even as Beery hollered obscenities at him on the ride to headquarters. He knew that if he opened his mouth to speak, he wouldn't be able to control his own boiling rage. He wanted to slam Beery's face into the table, but he knew that wouldn't do any good (aside from giving him satisfaction).

"Are you going to talk, Fed?" Beery sneered as Gibbs continued to be silent. "I know you've got nothing! If you did, I'd be in jail or something."

"Where are they?" Gibbs asked in a soft, but strained, tone.

"What?"

"Where are they?" he repeated in a louder tone. This time he punctuated the question with a bang of his hand against the table. It hurt like hell, but that pain didn't register on his face. His eyes and mouth remained frozen in their stony glare.

Beery, though, didn't flinch. His lips broke into a smirk as he looked across at the irate special agent. "Where's who?"

"Don't play dumb," Gibbs said. "We know that you and Moya are friends. I know that you've gotten yourself involved with his scheme. Now it's just a matter of you telling me where he's holding my people."

"Sounds like you don't really have any evidence that I've done anything," Beery commented. "Being friends with someone doesn't make a person guilty. And anyway, even if I were involved in whatever you're accusing me of, why would I help you?"

"Because," Gibbs said, "if you don't, I will make sure that the rest of your miserable life is hell."

"You can't do that," Beery said. A slight tone of hesitancy was present in his voice.

"I'm not the kind of guy who cares about proper protocol."

"Look, I know enough about law enforcement to know that you don't have a case against me. You've got a flimsy connection between me and Moya. Doesn't sound very air tight, special agent Gibbs."

"You're right," Gibbs said. He stood and paced to the side of the table. "We don't have a strong connection between you and Moya. What we _do_ have is your car down in our evidence garage. Right now, that car is being checked. Every finger print, every hair follicle—even every drop of spit—present in that car will be found and brought down to our forensics lab. If any of those belong to my kidnapped team members, I'll have you in connection to abduction of federal agents, attempted theft of government property, and aiding and abetting of a known felon. If my people aren't alive when we find Moya—and we will—then we'll add murder of federal agents to the record and your ass will be mine." He sat on the table's corner, arms crossed as he looked down Beery. "So do you think you cleaned out your car _that_ well?"

Beery visibly fidgeted beneath Gibbs' stare. The strong wall which he'd built up was beginning to crumble. Gibbs knew he had him.

"Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

* * *

**AN:** Getting down to the wire! Only three more chapters left!


	13. Chapter 13

Moya could tell something was wrong. It didn't take a genius to figure out that when someone went to a convenience store that was only twenty minutes away and didn't return after two hours, something bad had probably happened. Even Sal was had noticed Beery's long absence.

First, Moya assumed the man had stopped off somewhere for a quick lunch. When the two hour mark began to approach, he thought that maybe Beery had gone further into town for some beer, seeing as the convenience stores in that area didn't sell the brand he liked. When three hours had gone by and the man hadn't returned, or even called, Moya got antsy. Something was very, very wrong.

He ordered Sal to bring the hostages up from the basement and tie them to chairs. If they were ambushed, he wanted the hostages within shooting distance.

"So what are we going to do?" Sal asked after he'd looped the roped around Ziva's torso, binding her to the chair.

Moya was pacing back and forth, showing his own anxiety for the first time that Tim, Ziva, and even Sal could remember. The felon's cool exterior was melting away with drops of sweat which shone on his forehead. "We're going to wait a little longer for Joe to get back."

"Do you think he's hurt?"

"If he isn't, he'd damn well better have a good reason for not being here!" Moya snapped. He nervously tapped his gun against the palm of his hand. He looked at his prisoners. "They tied nice and tight?"

"Yeah," Sal said softly.

"Good." Moya turned on his heel and walked into the adjoining kitchen. Sal gave Tim and Ziva a quick look before following.

"When are we leaving?"

"When we get the Intel back."

Sal looked down at his feet, fidgeting as he prepared himself for asking what he knew would be a very uncomfortable question. "Uh…well, what if you don't get it back?" He all but cowered beneath Moya's cold glare. "I just mean that…well…don't you have another plan?"

Moya didn't answer as he sauntered to the window. He peeked out, hoping to see Beery pulling into the driveway. But he saw nothing. "If we don't get it, we dump them and figure out a new plan of action."

"Dump them?"

"The feds," Moya said, nodding to Tim and Ziva.

"Oh." Sal knew what Moya meant by "dump." He had to admit that the thought of killing someone didn't bode well with him. "So what about if you _do_ get the Intel?"

"Same thing," Moya said nonchalantly, "except then we high tail it out of the country."

Sal furrowed his brow in confusion. The way he understood it, when ransom demands were met, those being held for ransom were released unharmed. He was naïve in that respect. "We're gonna kill them?" he asked in a hushed tone. He glanced at Tim and Ziva who were sitting quietly in the other room, blissfully unaware that he and Moya were talking about their demise. "But if their boss gives you what you want—" He was cut off by a smack to the back of his head.

"They're loose ends," Moya growled. "Besides, this will be our way of sending a message to NCIS."

"What message?"

"That you don't mess with Carlos Moya."

"But…I mean, couldn't we just let them go? Maybe then they'll leave you alone."

Moya snorted. "They aren't going to leave me alone either way."

"Then shouldn't you leave the hostages alive in case you need to take them with you?"

Despite what he'd expected, Sal's comment wasn't met with a sneer or head smack. Instead, Moya looked pensive as he mulled the suggestion over in his mind. "Good point," he murmured. "We'll take one of them with us and off the other one. Then, when we've successfully gotten out of the country, we can off whichever one we take."

Sal frowned. That hadn't been what he'd meant when he'd made the suggestion. But he knew better than to argue with Moya; it was better to keep quiet.

"Go keep an eye on them," Moya ordered. "I'll keep an eye out for Joe."

He did as he was told and re-entered the living area, his demeanor notably somber. Both Tim and Ziva immediately noticed, deducing that whatever subject had been discussed in the kitchen had not been a happy one.

"Something wrong?" Tim asked with genuine concern.

Sal shook his head. "Just wanting this entire thing to be over with."

* * *

"That must be a new record for you, boss," Tony commented as he and Gibbs blazed down the road.

"You mean making Beery go from smug to sweaty so quickly?"

"No, I mean the speed you've managed to reach. I think we're this close to breaking the sound barrier." Tony found that a bit of levity in stressful situations helped him keep his cool.

They were down to a two man team, but it didn't deter them. They had the address of Moya's hideout and knew what to expect when they arrived. Moya had only one other man, a brawny guy who was a little low on smarts. According to Beery, Tim and Ziva were still alive and were being held in the basement. That would be ideal if they ambushed the hideout, as it wouldn't put them in the line of fire. But Gibbs wasn't counting on it.

"What's the plan when we get there?" Tony asked.

"Depends on what the situation is, DiNozzo. We'll park a ways away so as to not alert Moya."

"Maybe he'll be standing by a window and you can tap into your sniper skills, taking him out with one shot."

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind."

Tony sat back in silence, watching the outside world rush by in a blurry haze. His stomach was churning for reasons other than the Nascar-like drive. But he wasn't about to admit that. "What do you want to bet when we get there, Ziva's already taken them out with a thumbtack or something?"

Gibbs didn't respond.

"Or maybe," Tony jokingly theorized, "McGeek used a microwave oven to covertly send an S.O.S out for help and the FBI's already beaten us to the punch."

Gibbs still didn't respond.

"Yeah," the senior field agent said resignedly. "Yeah, I'm worried too."


	14. Chapter 14

The time which had past since Beery's departed had been far too long. For one reason or another, Beery wasn't coming back and Moya couldn't wait around to find out. It frustrated him to see his plans fall apart all around him. The plan had been to get the Intel back, kill the feds, get rid of the deadweight (i.e. Sal), and get out of the country. Then they would auction off the Intel and sit back and wait for the offers to spill in. Now it looked unlikely that would happen.

Luckily, Moya was quick on his feet and could develop a new plan just as quickly.

"We can't wait around for Joe," he told Sal after pulling the man aside in the kitchen. "We're just going to have to cut our losses and leave now."

"We're leaving without him? But what if he's hurt or something?"

"That's his problem. We can't just sit around here."

"He took the car."

"We'll find another one."

"Can we afford another one?"

"We're not going to buy it, stupid! We're going to steal it!"

Sal looked down, embarrassed by what he now saw had been a stupid question. "Should I pack my stuff?"

"No," Moya said forcefully. "The less we have to carry, the better."

"What about them?" Sal asked, nodding his head toward the living area.

"We'll take car of that right now." Moya grabbed Sal by the arm and dragged him into the living area.

Tim and Ziva looked up as the two men approached. It had been quiet—suspiciously quiet—and neither was blind to what was happening. They didn't know what had happened to the third man, but it looked as though Moya wasn't going to wait around to find out. He'd probably given up on the idea of retaining his stolen Intel, which meant they were no longer needed.

"We're getting out," Moya said.

"You are turning yourself in?" Ziva asked cheekily.

"Don't get smart with me!" he snapped. "Now the good news is that one of you is coming with us as insurance; the bad news is the other one has to take a bullet to their head." He watched as Tim and Ziva digested the new information before posing a question to them. "So who's ready to die?"

"Take her," Tim said without a second thought. While it may have seemed like a typical act of chivalry in which the man sacrifices his own life for a woman because that's what the man is supposed to do, it was, in actuality, more of a strategic move. Of course, Tim would have allowed himself to be killed in the place of a member of the opposite sex, but in this situation he was also thinking into the near future. Ziva had a better chance of overpowering the two men and escaping than Tim did, especially seeing as they seemed to equate being female with being a weakling. This way it was more likely that at least one of them would make it out alive.

Ziva didn't verbally reply to Tim's quick response, but she turned her head back to look at him. She knew his reasoning behind choosing himself to be killed, but she hated the idea of it.

Moya didn't spend much time thinking about it. One hostage was as good as the next and it would probably be easier to carry a woman along than a man. He untied Ziva from the chair, keeping her hands bound, as Sal stood by with the gun. "Shoot him and we'll go."

Sal looked back and forth between Moya and Tim, visibly hesitant. He knew that when Moya gave him a direct order, it should be followed…but this was different. Sal had never killed anyone before. He hated the thought of it.

"Can't we just leave him?" Sal asked hopefully.

"No, dumbass! Now I told you to shoot him."

"I don't know if I can." Sal was rocking from side to side uncomfortably, his gun hanging limply in his hand."

Moya cursed, obviously angered by his henchmen's lack of cooperation. "Fine! I'll do it!"

"Why do they have to die?" Sal asked, almost in tears.

"Because that's the way it works!" Moya snarled. "I know your stupid, but are you mentally retarded or something?"

"You're not stupid, Sal," Tim said. "Not wanting to kill in cold blood isn't stupid. It means you're a moral person."

"Shut your trap!" Moya said to Tim, his grip tightening on Ziva's arms. "Sal, if you don't have the balls to do it, give me the gun and I'll do it!"

"Do you think the Navy would sit by and let an innocent person get killed?" Tim was too much on a roll to stop now. "Isn't the Navy about protecting people?"

"I told you to shut up!"

"You don't have to be in the armed forces to protect people, Sal. It's as easy as just standing up for what's right."

Sal was standing in the middle of the sparring between Tim and Moya, looking as though he had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other and he wasn't sure which was truly right. In a way, he actually did. "I don't want to kill anyone," he said softly. "I just can't."

"God dammit!" Moya bellowed as he pushed Ziva to the side. "Give me the fucking gun!"

* * *

Gibbs had first thought Beery had lied as he and Tony traveled through the wooded area with no luck. Then a small house came into view. They pulled over on the road and got out, hoping the sound of a car approaching hadn't alerted Moya to their presence. With guns in hand, they crept toward the small house. Gibbs was about to signal for Tony to go around back when a shot sounded from within.

Without a second thought, Gibbs kicked open the front door and he and Tony rushed in. "Federal agents! Drop your weapons!" they hollered simultaneously.

They weren't surprised to find Tim bound to a chair and Ziva standing off to the side with her hands tied behind her back.

They _were_ surprised to see Carlos Moya lying dead on the floor in a pool of blood while a tall and muscular man stood there, face full of fear, holding a smoking gun in his hand.


	15. Chapter 15

Sal sat handcuffed in the back of the car while the rest of the team waited for Ducky to arrive and handle Moya's body. Tim and Ziva insisted they were physically fine—a bit hungry and some bad friction burns from the ropes being tied around their wrists, but for the most part, fine—so a hospital visit didn't seem necessary. Gibbs, though, insisted that they be examined by Ducky at the very least.

"And then what happened?" Gibbs asked. He was getting their statements on the abduction and Moya's death.

"Moya lunged for the gun," Tim recounted. "It went off in Sal's hand."

Ziva nodded in agreement. "I do not think he even meant for it to happen."

Gibbs and Tony exchanged skeptical looks. It wasn't an implausible explanation, but it was one they heard far too often. Gibbs had a feeling, though, that neither Tim nor Ziva would change their account of what had happened. He shrugged and wrote it down. "And that's when Tony and I ran in," he concluded before flipping his pad closed.

Ducky's autopsy van pulled up and he and Jimmy filed out. Gibbs led them inside to the body, giving them a run down of the situation. The other three remained outside, a somber mood hanging over them all.

Tim gave a glance to Sal. The poor guy looked completely dejected and Tim's heart went out to him. Sal had, after all, saved his life. "What's going to happen to him?"

"What do you think, Probie?" Tony asked. "He broke the law. That means he goes to jail."

"He is not a bad person," Ziva said. "He simply fell in with the wrong crowd."

"Yeah, and I think the majority of guys sitting in jail would say the same thing. He still took part in the theft of Naval Intelligence and the kidnapping of you two."

"We don't know how involved he was in stealing the Intel," Tim argued. "I doubt he even fully understood what Moya had stolen."

"And he saved our lives," Ziva added emphatically.

Tony looked back and forth between the two, shocked at how intently they were defending a man who'd taken part in their kidnapping and ransom demands, and who could have possibly been directly involved in their deaths. "You two succumb to Stockholm Syndrome or something?"

"You were not there, Tony," Ziva said in a firm tone. "I do not deny that he did something wrong, but he also did something right."

"You claimed that him shooting Moya was an accident."

"It was, but he also refused to kill McGee. I think that qualifies as something right."

"Look, I know he'll have to do some time," Tim conceded, "but I don't think he should be put in the same league as Moya and Beery. A good lawyer could make the argument that he didn't comprehend the severity of his own actions or even that he was brainwashed. We all know how much of a smooth talker Moya was."

"McGee, I don't see that happening. Stupidity isn't a viable excuse for committing a crime."

"He's not stupid!" Tim said more vehemently than he'd expected to. "He just…he doesn't understand things as quickly as other people."

"Either way, McGee, I don't think brainwashing will hold up in court."

Tim knew Tony was right. The older agent wasn't saying it just to anger him; the truth was that Sal was going to prison for an undetermined amount of time. Some positive testimony and the fact that Sal had saved their lives would certainly help his case somewhat, but it was impossible to tell how sympathetic a judge would be. "Can I go talk to him?" he asked.

Tony wasn't sure how good of an idea it was for Tim to talk with Sal at the moment, but he couldn't think of a good reason to say no. "So long as you don't get any ideas about breaking him out or something."

"I'm not stupid, Tony," he said with a wry smile before trekking over to the car. The window was rolled down to allow air in. Sal looked up as Tim approached and smiled sadly.

"I guess I made a mistake."

Tim shrugged. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah, but I made a big one. I guess I really am stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"Why are you so nice to me?" Sal asked.

"I know what it's like to be bullied. And I mean it, Sal. You're not stupid."

"Well, I was stupid to get involved in with all of this."

"Like I said: everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah," Sal said softly, nodding in agreement. "I guess I'm going to jail."

Tim wished he could say it wasn't so, that Sal might be able to get by with just a slap on the wrist, but he couldn't. He didn't want to give the guy false hope. "You're probably going to go to jail for a little bit," he affirmed. "But you also saved our lives, and I have a feeling that'll count for something. I'll even speak in your favor."

"Really?" Sal asked hopefully.

Tim nodded. "You're not a bad person and in the end, you did the right thing."

"I killed him."

"You did it to protect yourself and to protect us."

"But I still did it."

Tim reached in and put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "I've been there. I know it's hard to deal with killing someone. Just remember that it wasn't an innocent person and it wasn't in cold blood."

He wanted to say more to the despondent man, but Tim heard Gibbs call, "McGee!" The man was gesturing to him while Ducky stood by to examine him. He figured this would be the last time he would be able to talk with Sal alone.

"You know," he said before joining the rest of the group, "I think that if Gordon were to see you now, he'd be proud of you for doing the right thing, even if you made a couple of mistakes along the way."

The small smile he saw on Sal's face was enough to make Tim smile as well. He had a feeling that, come what may, the man would come out of it okay.

* * *

**AN:** And thus, it comes to an end! Thanks for reading!


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